


The Twelve Days of Relationship Revelation

by BourbonNeat



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Comfort, Episode Related, Idiots in Love, M/M, TGS Secret Santa 2017, sickness and injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonNeat/pseuds/BourbonNeat
Summary: Twelve revelatory moments in the evolving relationship of Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond. Along with several bumps in the road, no small amount of swearing, and the occasional cuddle or two.





	The Twelve Days of Relationship Revelation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LassieLowrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LassieLowrider/gifts).



> Written for the TGS 2017 Secret Santa Fic Exchange based on the following prompts: 
> 
> 1) Twelve days of Christmas! Not necessary to adhere to the song, but maybe how they prepare for Christmas coming up? And 2) Richard's (most recent) tumble brings on some overprotectiveness, and some arguments.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have flipped the order of major events here, and taken other liberties with the timeline because, of course, this is complete fiction.

 

**Twelve Supercars Roaring**

For Jeremy the noticing started as soon as Richard began regaling them with tragic anecdotes from his DJ career. Not five minutes after his official audition had ended and he’d had them in stitches all over again, his big brown eyes glinting mischievously even while something in his gestures seemed almost shy. 

The flirting began shortly thereafter. But it didn’t begin in earnest until they were filming the first Perfect Road Trip. There was just something about Richard Hammond driving that gorgeous E-Type to St. Tropez with the top down. Not to mention later in motorcycle leathers. And apparently Hammond had seen something he liked sufficiently in return.

They ended the trip with driving bans in France and a number of love bites in increasingly creative places. A certain shared competitive nature _might_ have contributed to both.

Jeremy was happier than he’d been in ages. This thing with Richard was easy and fun, and with three divorces between them, easy and fun was a necessity for both of them. They’d always been close mates. Now their relationship was simply more… beneficial.

 

**Eleven Disasters Spiraling**

“Just. Promise me you’re not doing this – throwing away your career – just because we’re…” Jeremy paused for a moment, making his solemn face for reasons that had nothing to do with comedy. When he continued it was in a much quieter voice. “Sleeping together.”

Honestly, the way this loud, blustery man – of all people – grew so shy talking about their sexual relationship anywhere outside of the bedroom would have been adorable in almost any other context. As it was, Richard was rolling his eyes before Jeremy even finished. He had tried to be understanding – after a fashion – but Jeremy had done enough wallowing now.

“How is it even possible for you be such a colossal moron? How?” He stood up and started pacing, the chair no longer capable of containing his agitation. Good, he had the man’s full attention.

“No this isn’t because you and I are sleeping together,” he insisted, dropping his voice low into his best Clarkson impression at the end. “Fifteen years of friendship, man. Fifteen years! Of the three of us – the four of us – creating this daft, amazing thing. Of not wanting to do anything else but this.”

And starting down the path of whatever this was with Jeremy was inextricably woven into that, sharpening and enhancing everything. Not some separate detail upon which he could chose or chose not to base his decision. How could the man not understand that?

“And m’not throwing away my career. I have decided to end my career working with you lot. Whether that’s a year from now or fifteen, that’s still what _I_ want.”

Apparently mollified, Jeremy halted Richard’s progress. Encouraging him into a hug, he enfolded him with long arms in an embrace that both drew comfort from in equal measure.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Richard added several moments later, voice muffled where his face pressed against Jeremy’s shirt. “Sleeping together? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Because I’d like to think I’ve been a bit more athletic than that.”

He felt his heart swell near to bursting as Jeremy started to shake with laughter against him.

 

**Ten on the Scale**

After three nights of hell, spasming in his bed in Mallorca, frantic to catch a full breath, Jeremy finally decided it might be a good idea to see a doctor. Travelling without Richard, and now ill on top it? Some holiday this was turning out to be.

By the time the doctor asked him how much discomfort he was in on the traditional one to ten scale, Jeremy could only answer ‘Ten’ listlessly, too ill to even think of the cheeky ‘Eleven’ he might have answered under other circumstances.

Pneumonia, and an apparently apocalyptic case of it at that. Drip IVs, antibiotics and expectorants. He would have to be admitted for at least a week or the consequences were sufficiently dire that even Jeremy found he couldn’t argue with them. Bloody hell he felt old. Rundown and frightened and sicker than he could ever remember being in his life. But mostly old.

He wanted Richard desperately. His conversation, their arguments. The comfort of his vibrant presence, of his hand in Jeremy’s while he slept. At the same time, and just as desperately, he wanted Richard as far away from him as possible, ensuring that his younger, much fitter lover never saw him in this state.

Jeremy sighed deeply as he struggled to find a comfortable position for sleeping around all of the tubes and monitors. It was a bloody awful time to realize that his feelings had become something more like _Feelings_. Had been for some time, in fact. And that he had no way of gauging if Hammond felt the same.

 

**Nine Angry Texts**

_Come on, Jezza, answer your phone._

Sent 15:27

 

_Arse. Would you just answer your phone?_

Sent 19:42

 

_Are you really going to make me do this over text message, Jeremy?_

_Well Richard, it appears so. I do hope you don’t mind._

_Actually I do mind a bit if it’s all the same to you._

_Well too bad. I’m too busy being a colossal bellend in the middle of a strop to answer the phone._

_All right then, if you insist…_

Sent 09:31

 

_Really?_

_Right. I can’t believe you told me you were fine, when clearly you are anything but. I had to find out you were still in hospital from Andy. Nearly died, he said. And I’m stuck filming out here in the middle of bloody nowhere on your new schedule._

_Why did you do that?!_

Sent 11:08

 

_You are a bastard._

Sent 18:14

 

_You are an utter, utter bastard._

Sent 20:11

 

_Oh for fuck’s sake. I am WORRIED about you._

_Answer the phone. Reply to a text._

Sent 09:02

 

_Please._

Sent 09:45

 

_I know you’re thinking that if you can hold out just long enough, I’ll drop this._

_I promise you, I won’t._

Sent 11:12

 

For what seemed like it was easily the hundredth time that day, Richard stared at the lack of notifications of any sort from Jeremy on his mobile. There were plenty of people in his life who pissed him off and brightened his day in equal measure. He made ambitiously rubbish films with most of them on a regular basis. But only Jeremy could make him feel quite this fond and this angry all at the same time. And now he was terribly, terribly worried on top of it all. Both about how Jeremy was feeling and what he could possibly be thinking right now. 

Richard sighed. In reality he’d been hoping that if _he_ could just persist long enough, _Jeremy_ would drop it. Apparently not, the stubborn old git.

So be it. Desperate times and all that.

 

**Eight Hours Travel**

Jeremy opened his eyes that morning in hospital expecting to confront a number of things. More medications, more treatments. Another long day of crushing boredom. If he was very lucky indeed, another small precious gain in lung capacity.

He was not expecting to find Richard Hammond staring at him from the chair next to his bed, a mix of so much concern and so much hurt anger in those rich chocolate eyes, that it took Jeremy’s breath away. What little he had anyway. Both fortunately, and to his great shame, his body began the morning ritual of trying to rid his lungs of phlegm before Richard could begin speaking.

Hands reached out to steady him, sure and strong for all that both could and often did fit easily in one of Jeremy’s. Richard helped him with the tissues, and then raised a fresh glass of water of to his lips before easing him back against the pillows. It was soothing, comforting, and deeply mortifying as well. Gratitude and despair warred in his mind.

“This is why, Hammond,” he rasped at last. “Because I’m fucking old. And this,” he paused, waving his hands to encompass the room and everything in it, “is an old man thing. Nearly dying of pneumonia. Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Richard’s eyebrow had arched nearly into his hairline by this point. “Are you quite finished yet?”

But another coughing fit interrupted them before he could really get going.

“And I’m supposed to give up smoking,” Jeremy confessed in a distressed whisper once they had repeated their routine with the tissues and the water. “And drinking and, oh, the entire concept of fun as well.” Cough, hack, wheeze. “Can’t possibly be what you signed on for. You’re better off rid of me.”

By this point, Richard’s annoyance had reached the point of flailing. “Oh of all the – budge up. You heard me, budge up, man.”

Jeremy stopped staring and did as he was asked. Richard climbed into the bed next to him, opened his arms and Jeremy went without thinking. The warm familiarity of the smaller man’s body was more soothing somehow than stacks of soft blankets.

“I have spent the last eight hours in a car, two planes, a cab, and more waiting areas than I care to think about, just to be here with you.” Richard’s words were half growl, but his arms held Jeremy like he was something precious. “Because I love you and I’ve been a complete mess I’m so worried about you. Yes, I said it. I love you.”

Jeremy was sure he must be gawping like a goldfish at this point. He opened his mouth to speak, but Richard’s fingers pressed gently against his lips. 

“No, don’t say anything. You shouldn’t be talking so much right now. And I am still massively cross with you.” Lips brushed against the top of his head and stayed there. “And it’s rubbish if you just say it right back the first time anyway,” Richard murmured against his skin.

 

**Seven Wagers Settled**

“So. Richard and I are…”

Jeremy looked uncharacteristically nervous, sitting in Andy’s office with three pairs of eyes trained on him expectantly. More so than Richard could remember seeing him in quite a while. Of course, he wasn’t exactly a portrait of calm and collected himself, as he gripped his right knee just that much tighter in an attempt to physically restrain it from bouncing off the bottom of the glass table.

“Well, we just are, all right?” Apparently finished, Jeremy rested his hand on Richard’s knee under the table with a reassuring squeeze. Though who took the most reassurance from the gesture was debatable.

Richard could not help but smile. Jeremy only ever stumbled over his words like this when high emotion was involved. His eyes travelled away from the great lummox just in time to catch James and Andy exchanging a look.

“Oh, you don’t say?” Andy deadpanned. “Because, after I had to help organize emergency transportation to assist a distraught hamster fleeing my set last month, I really wondered.”

James sniggered. “Yes, and up until then they’d been so discreet with their massive flirtation.”

“Oh come off it, Slow” Jeremy laughed. “All right, so you and Andy figured it out. But it’s not like the entire crew’s been taking bets or anything.”

“No, only about half,” Andy confirmed. “Like we said, discreet. So, James, was this your month then?”

“No. Pretty sure it’s Brian’s. And then the office staff have their own pool going, of course.”

Richard started giggling in that way where he always sort of worried he might not be able to stop, as Jeremy sputtered.

“How did you? When…”

James’ laugh was starting to verge dangerously into dying goose territory. “How? Please Jezza, you’ve been able to cut the UTS around here with a knife for nearly a decade, man.”

“UTS?” Richard managed.

“Oh. Er. UST. Unresolved Sexual Tension.” He waived one hand in a vague gesture. “It’s a young person’s internet thing. My niece was going on about it the other day, talking about some American supernatural program she likes.”

“No, mate,” Richard laughed. “Resolved. Very much resolved.”

 

**Six Moments Flashing**

Jeremy would forever remember the end of that Saturday’s hill climb in Switzerland as a series of brief, coherent moments flashing through the thick haze of shock and cold fear.

The moment he heard that the Lamborghini test driver had “an off” in the Aventador, the words cackling with static over the walky-talky.

The moment he first saw the extensive plume of smoke. He distinctly remembered thinking at that point that “an off” was far too much understatement, even for him.

Standing on the side of the road, analyzing the skid marks and the damaged terrain leading down the hill to the burning wreck below. The full extent and brutality of the crash revealing itself to his all too practiced eye. For the life of him, he couldn’t see how the driver could possibly have gotten out.

The solid, unyielding feel of the tarmac under his knees as Jeremy sank abruptly to the ground, realizing to his everlasting horror that the twists of metal still visible in the inferno were the wrong color. The Aventador was yellow. The burning car was not yellow. The burning car was… white. White, like Richard’s Rimac.

The sound of James’ voice as he arrived on the scene, seemingly out of nowhere. Screaming. Frantic. James May never screamed, not like that. And he was never frantic. Jeremy knew what he was going to say and tried desperately not to hear the words.

“It’s all right fellas. He winked at me.” Those perfect words delivered by their head of security, putting the breath back in his body and solidity back into the jelly that had become of his knees. Alive. Alive!

 

\-----

The next evening in the comparative calm of Richard’s hospital room, Jeremy did not participate in the making of the ‘video exclusive’. James understood his mood without even asking, clasped his shoulder briefly in passing, and just worked around him. He laughed in all the right places for conversation, enjoyed his share of James’ smuggled gin, basked in the warmth of Richard’s ready laugh, and tried to keep his brain from wandering back to ‘what if’. He only let go of Richard’s hand when absolute necessity demanded it.

It was the first time Jeremy realized that the growing feeling in his chest, the one that seemed too impossibly huge to name, could actually be encompassed in words. He thought the words, loudly and repeatedly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say them. Not yet. If Richard had thought hearing the words in Jeremy’s hospital room would have felt too forced and clichéd, certainly hearing them in his own would be even worse.

Not yet then. But soon.

 

**Five Simple Words**

When it finally happened, it was much more organic than that. In fact it was safe to say Jeremy wasn’t thinking at all. Laughing in bed, diligently trying to work around Richard’s now much smaller, but somehow no less impeding, knee brace to find a position that could work for them both. Desperate and wanting and increasingly frustrated, but still giggling.

Finally Richard threw himself back into the pillows, arms behind his head, knees parted invitingly, and announced, “Well, there’s nothing else for it. I guess you’ll just have to service me for the next few weeks.”

Jeremy took one fond look at the gorgeous man spread out before him, at the twinkle in his eyes and his infectious grin, and was overcome. Both with the ridiculousness of their situation and something a lot more passionate. He shook his head, laughing, as the words came out all in a rush. “I love you, you pillock.”

And then, as the magnitude of what he’d finally said washed over him. “You do know that, right?”

Smiling, eyes starting to go damp, Richard pulled him down into a kiss.

 

**Four Wheels Again _(Sort Of)_**

“Oh for… Would someone please get this hobbling invalid a wheelchair or something?” Jeremy complained as soon as Richard reached the Ford GT, halting the take.

His attempt at annoyed bluster was doing a frankly pathetic job of hiding the man’s concern. And while part of Richard wanted to pull his boyfriend aside and assuage that worry, the rest of him was getting bloody sick of all of the coddling. The fact that he was starting to realize he might actually _need_ a wheelchair for large stretches of this, had even thought about the likelihood of obtaining one quickly at the airport, was only compounding the problem. If James May didn’t want to run on camera, Richard Hammond felt at least as adamant about appearing that dependent on the other two on camera. Especially when it proved Jeremy right about something.

“Jeremy, for the last time, I am fine.”

“You were wincing as you shambled your way over here. Your knee-”

“Is fine. My arms are sore from the crutches is all.” Truly. He never could walk on the damn things with any ease.

“You should still be in hospital.”

“Should not,” he re-explained with unusual patience. “In fact, I’m supposed to be moving around now. Doctor’s orders.”

Jeremy walked over and pulled Richard aside, leaning down to whisper furiously. “How am I supposed to just drive off and leave you wobbling all over New York – seriously, man, you’re as awkward as me on those things – all on your own? How am I supposed to do that?”

Richard almost lost it then. But he remembered the look on Jeremy’s face in the hospital all too well. The occasional tremor through his fingers as he held Richard’s hand after the crash. He was still one-hundred percent done with all of the coddling, but perhaps a little more patience was in order.

“First off, I’m hardly all on my own. And second, because this is our job, and I am ready to do it again. Because you love me. Because deep down you know you’re being ridiculous and everything is going to work out just fine. That is how you’re supposed to do this.”

 

\-----

“Morning Hammond!”

“Morning chaps, how are you?”

“We’re very well.”

“You do know this is a race car, right?”

 

**Three Counts of Eight**

Jeremy had done a number of difficult things over the last several years, but watching Richard thrash the Ford GT round the Eboladrome had to rank among the highest. Well, for particularly hamster-ish values of thrash. He had long maintained that Hammond needed too much assistance in the editing room for any of his runs to truly constitute a thrashing. Unless mud and a country lane were somehow involved.

But even so, Richard, high speeds, straights, corners, and so soon after he had been given clearance to drive at all. It was all Jeremy could do not to start shouting at Andy to bring a halt to this accident waiting to happen. This wasn’t even for a film, after all. Jeremy was the one taking the Ford round the track for the film. Richard had just batted his big brown eyes at Jeremy, and set his stubborn jaw, and…

_Breathe. Hold it in. Exhale._

Richard shot down the Isn’t Straight at full speed, managing to hold a decent line around Field of Sheep. Bollocksed it up around Substation – just as he usually did, Jeremy reminded himself – but recovered nicely into the Bumpy Back Straight.

_In for a count of eight. Hold for a count of eight. Then out for a count of eight._

“I have to say, Jezza,” James said beside him. “You’re taking this all remarkably calmly. I’m really quite proud of you.”

There was a decidedly knowing twinkle in the man’s eye, but that didn’t necessarily belie the proud comment. It might have even added weight to it.

Jeremy made a non-committal noise in response, not wanting to break his concentration enough to speak. But hearing the voice of a distinctly pleased Hammond over the crackle of the radio as a crewmember walked by, he couldn’t help but smile.

It might nearly kill him for a while, and would certainly improve his lung capacity with all of the breathing exercises for the resulting anxiety, but Jeremy could do this.

Because this was Richard’s job and he was ready to do it again. And Jeremy loved him.

 

**Two Sets of Keys**

“I haven’t got a house,” Jeremy pointed out, with the perfect blend of faux outrage and patience in the face of blatant idiocy. “You may remember, you blew it up.”

“Well, all right,” James countered. “Your backup house.”

“Yeah, your spare house is just there,” Richard added with a pointed look out the windowed backdrop of their Grand Tour set.

It was, quite possibly, the smallest exaggeration in their shared filming history. If he stood up and craned his head just so, Richard could have actually seen the house. He had to consciously remind himself not to smile.

Jeremy held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Let’s not get bogged down with whose house is the nearest.”

“It’s yours.” James said immediately.

“Definitely yours,” Richard agreed. Then, in a moment of inspiration, “Is that your cat?” 

The audience went from giggling to laughing as Jeremy looked ever more put upon. “The point is…”

“Oh, hang on,” James interrupted, playing along beautifully. “Jezza, you’ve got a parcel.”

The audience began howling, and it was all Richard could do not to laugh along. He lived for moments like this, when the three of them were just on, so in sync that the improvisations flowed as smooth and natural as breathing. He could see Andy pacing just off camera, rolling his eyes at their antics and trying not to laugh. It was perfect.

Almost as perfect as the second set of keys to the aforementioned backup house currently residing in Richard’s pocket. They jingled faintly every time he forgot how sore his knee was still and started to bounce it in nervous excitement. Which did at least help keep the grin off of his face for too inexplicable a time.

He hadn’t moved in. Yet. But neither had he been back to his flat at any point in the last twelve nights.

Jeremy caught his eye as soon as the series overview clip started rolling, the warm smile on his face making Richard’s insides flip a little. Blue eyes twinkling, Jeremy darted a glance in the direction of the house before his gaze returned to rest on Richard. Not yet. But soon.

 

**And a Hamster Under an Orangutan’s Tree**

Jeremy lay on his living room sofa, comfortably tangled with Richard under one of his mother’s crocheted blankets, and gazed happily on the first Christmas tree he’d decorated in years. Once he’d moved out, and then once the kids had moved out on their own, such that he was joining them for the festivities rather than having them at his every other year, the prospect of decorating had just seemed depressing. But this year, at last, he had a reason to remember what he loved about the season.

They had cocked up their attempt at Christmas dinner so thoroughly that Andy would be cross they didn’t film it. Truly episode worthy, and one of the sillier ones that usually had fans writing in to complain about how the show was becoming too scripted at that. But they’d joked and laughed their way through the whole debacle, and the ensuing clean up. Endlessly inventive, eventually they had retired to the living room with a satisfying picnic cobbled together from the various treats sent by Jeremy’s neighbors, rosé, and a gift hamper from Emily that now seemed oddly prophetic. Perhaps not so oddly, come to think.

Quite simply, it was the best Christmas… well, if not ever then certainly since the children were small. Richard started laughing again and Jeremy couldn’t resist pulling him closer, kissing his perpetually tousled head and nuzzling into his neck until the laughter turned into more of a giggle. And this was another astonishing thing. There was laughter in his home on a regular basis now, and not just when the children were visiting. And he wanted, oh how he wanted…

“Stay with me,” Jeremy breathed into Richard’s neck. “Forever. Move your motorcycles into my garage to keep my BMW company, and bring your dogs to keep my cat in line. And just, stay with me.”


End file.
